The Train Again
by WriteThisLife
Summary: "Travel to the other side of Britain, yeah, but not know how much I care about you? Not fair." What happens when James and Violet have to face reality. A bit weepy. (Who's to say there won't be a sequel to this? :)) James II/OC


The grayness of the world pervaded almost every aspect of my vision as I stood there, toes pressing into my water-filled, squelchy flats, at platform five and a quarter. The glint of the gold in his eyes was the only spark of color I could see, but it's all I ever needed.

It was raining, and he was leaving.

We listened to the raindrops thrum on James' invisible umbrella he had magicked, holding it up with his wand. We were behind one of the old ticket booths on the platform, effectively shielding ourselves from any potential reporters. I was staring at a patch of fabric on his buttoned coat before I moved my hands to touch his. I felt him look at me.

"Is this really what you want?" I finally tore my eyes away from his coat to look at him, searching his face for a response to the words I had just put into the universe. His eyes, warm as they always were with their flecks of gold, seemed to change. They looked tired.

James' jaw tightened for an instant. "Vi, we fight all the time. I don't think that's fair to either of us."

"Every other couple in the world fight. Ask any married couple."

He stared at me for a beat, then looked away into the distance. "With me transferring to Puddlemere United, I just think this is a good time to." He didn't quite finish his sentence, but didn't quite trail off either. It agitated me for some reason.

"'To'?" I asked, still looking up at him. "'To' what, James?"

He sighed.

"Say it," I said quietly. I tried to keep it from trembling out of anger. "Just so we can all be clear. Good to have definitions."

"Baby—"

"If you're going to do this, then I won't be your baby," I snapped. I felt so on-edge that I felt my hair could spontaneously ignite the air with electricity.

He glared at me. "It seems like _you're_ the one who wants to. To break up," he said quietly. "I've been sensing it for a while now. I don't think you'd even be too sorry about it," he finished, tossing in a derisive bark of laughter.

I spluttered. He was impossible. "You are _impossible_ , James."

He stared, his eyebrows slightly narrowed out of defiance. I noticed his eyes were a bit glazed over with water, just like mine were.

"First of all, I don't know _what_ you've been 'sensing.' Have you ever bothered to think it might be because I'm transferring Healing services this month?"

He looked awestruck. A twinge of happiness cut through my annoyance (he was pretty cute when he was being stupid).

"Second of all." I drew in a breath and squeezed his hands with mine. They felt warm, like they always did—a source of stability in a storm.

"Listen to me," I murmured. His golden gaze met mine, and I had never felt surer in my life. "I love being with you. You are my best friend." I paused, words truly escaping me, watching how he studied my face. "I don't know what else to say to make you believe me." I was feeling a bit weepy. "Travel to the other side of Britain, yeah, but not know how much I care about you? Not fair." I sniffed into his perfect face.

The beauty of his eyes was too much; my own gaze deferred to his coat again.

"I love you."

I slowly raised my eyes. "I love you, too," I replied automatically. "Newsflash: nothing new, James." I smiled slightly.

He was still guarding his face, but I could tell it softened. "I love you too much to put you through this. The distance—it's going to make everything harder. It's so stupid that Coach bans all Apparition," he continued, shaking his head. "I love being with you too much to not be able to be together."

My mind had subsided into a sort of blank numbness. "James. That sentence doesn't make sense."

He took a deep breath and glanced down at our hands, holding his gaze there for a beat. "I want to break up, for when I'm away." He stared into my eyes.

From my previous numbness, my mind was incredibly clear now. I memorized his eyes, melting in them. "And then?" I asked softly.

"And then," he murmured, "when I get back in a few months—then we'll see where we are. What it's like. If writing to each other is honorable to how I feel about you." My stomach exploded into butterflies, like that first day on the Hogwarts Express when I met him. "Because I'm absolutely mad about you, Vi," he said, a chuckle breaking through his words, "and I don't want to be unfair to you by not being there. We both agreed that we wouldn't make the other choose between us and Healing, us and Quidditch. Here we are, then. I think this is the right thing to do."

Even though I hated it, I agreed.

Neither of us said anything else. Smoky mist from the train's exhaust was making its way toward us now, and I could hear murmurings of other witches and wizards saying their goodbyes and boarding the train. Still we stared at one another, connected by gaze and our hands held tight.

James. Losing him was like losing part of what made me happy; he was the best part of everyday.

I swallowed and drew a breath. "If that's what you want, James." It was the quietest I'd ever spoken, yet clearer than the sunrise.

His face finally unguarded itself, and I saw the pain and the hurt and the guilt and the love etched there all at once. He nodded. "I love you, Vi. You better write me back," he said, trying to inject some light-heartedness into the now finalized conversation.

I couldn't bring myself to fake a laugh. I just looked at him, smiling what I'm sure was a sad smile. "You know I will." The numbness was back.

One more hand squeeze. One more look.

I watched him board the train, watched his messy head of hair search for me as he found a compartment. One last look. And he was gone.

The gray mist surrounded me as I searched for a glimmer of gold.


End file.
